


(Let's call it Unified) Polar Affectivity

by mitochondrials



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fictionalized Dissociative Identity Disorder, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-10 07:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14732282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondrials/pseuds/mitochondrials
Summary: Tony, in a moment of sheer brilliance, willingly walks into Victor von Doom’s obvious trap. Turns out, so did a certain Steve Rogers, and now Tony’s stuck with him. Or, more accurately, Steve’s stuck with Tony’s other (overly protective) personality, Ironman.





	(Let's call it Unified) Polar Affectivity

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [KakushiMiko](https://kakushimiko.deviantart.com/)'s enthralling and ever lovely artwork you can see by clicking [here](http://kakushimiko.tumblr.com/post/174211065162/here-is-the-first-contribution-of-the-capironman). 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this (and screaming, but shh). Huge thank you to my betas. You guys were such a big help!!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading~.

The first thing Tony felt was the cold bleeding through his skin and into his bones. He jolted, his fingers flexing as the binding wrapped around his wrists dug into the delicate skin. He tried blinking, adjusting to the darkness. The darkness ...bound up and gagged inside the darkness. Inside the cave. The blinding sun when he's allowed outside for the first time, stinging his eyes. Shrapnel in his chest. Yinsen.

"Stark," Someone whispered, and then there was a heavy weight pressing against his shoulders. Not the cave. This isn't Afghanistan. This isn't ...

Tony gasped and focused on breathing. Just breathe, in and out. In and out. Gotta make Brucie-Bear all sorts of proud.

Once he was calm, it all came back to him: the rogue Iron Legion that survived after Ultron--the obvious trap too tempting to resist. He cocked his head to the side, and ah, there said Iron Legion was. Clean and sleek, and so, so clearly a bastardized zombie of his once beautiful creation. It was a bittersweet thought and a cruel reminder that regardless of his choices, his mistakes always came back to haunt him.

Feeling along his restraints, he was then also reminded of his companion, still holding most of their weight against him. Deciding to take the risk of being a creep, he continued moving his hands to where their binding met, the two of them purposely stuck together. He had to swallow the dread crawling up his throat when he felt the familiar material of a certain Supersoldier's, personally hand-crafted uniform, rough and matted with dirt. Great. Perfect. He felt above the wrist and was disappointed to find nothing more than the rest of Steve's arm.

"Tony?" Steve asked softly, turning as best he could in Tony's direction. Well, at least being tied together back to back meant Tony had a fantastic excuse for not having to look at him.

"Rogers," Tony managed, summoning every inch of anger he could muster. "Seriously?" Fortunately, he sounded absolutely pathetic. _Absolutely, “I totally have been thinking about this day and night for two years to the point my alter ego tried snapping your stupid, crummy and utterly vile flip phone Rogers” pathetic._

"Hey, Tony," Steve said, hurt, but finally shifting his weight off Tony's much more lithe frame (he wasn't small, how dare you even think it).

It soothed Tony's broken heart enough that he switched focus onto the room they happened to find themselves in. It really was exceptionally dark, but it there was enough light, once his eyes adjusted, to spot the glittering of machinery and tools scattered in disarray. There were various tubes and from what Tony could see, something that looked like a mini-submarine towards the end, near the wall. Stark--hah!--amongst the vague darkness were the beaming eyes of his Iron Legion was standing at attention a few feet where Steve and him were bound together.

"It's some kind of workshop," Captain Obvious clarified. _Gee_ , Tony thought, biting his tongue. "Tony ..." Steve then started mimicking Tony’s previous action by feeling along Tony's wrists in a similar manner. Tony wanted to snort. If Steve thought he was stupid enough to come waltzing into a trap with any of his technology out in the open, Steve was stupider than he  thought. It was, of course, wired directly inside his body, allowing for a direct hit with an EMP to take him straight down because he hadn't figured out a better shielding capability before deciding it really wasn't important at the time.

Well, wired wasn't the right term. Melded to his bones was a much better description. Because he was a genius. A very, very, stupid genius--and damnit, he refused to let Steve-fucking-Rogers have that one, okay? Okay.

Meanwhile, Steve let out a sigh, the bastard, and Tony took a deep, much-needed breath. Might as well accept that he and Steve were stuck with each other. Curious, Tony opted for fondling Steve's hands again with his own, ignoring how it made his heart jump in his chest and started tapping an index finger on the back of one of Steve's hands, hoping Steve's brilliance wasn't gonna fail him now. Delightfully, Steve instantly attempted to tug at his own binding. Tony wondered if Steve had already tried before he was conscious because regrettably, all it did was force a painful sounding grunt out of Steve's mouth.

So, supersoldier-proof then. Luckily, escaping wasn't part of the plan. Escaping would come later. Right now was figuring out what other property had been commandeered without him knowledge. Without his permission.

"I'm sorry, Tony--"

"Shh!" Tony cut Steve off. The sound of heavy footsteps thudded along the stone floor as a caped figure stalked through the narrow doorway. He was tall, dressed head to toe in glittering silver-looking armor that was adorned with a green, fluttering cape. Victor von Doom, ruler of Latveria, a small country in Europe. A Proud scientist and inventor, from what Tony could gather on the guy. Doom had all the juicy details about himself heavily encrypted, which was a pretty huge testament to his brilliance.

The lights flickered on, succeeding in nearly blinding Tony momentarily before he could comprehend how uncomfortably close Doom was standing next to him.

"Stark," Doom said, his voice a deep rumble and his accent heavy. "And, Captain America." He announced the latter curiously. Seems like Steve wasn’t a part of either of their plans, funnily enough. Yet Doom was prepared for Captain America all the same, even going so far as to invent special cuffs perfectly crafted to withstand a supersoldier.

"Doom," Tony finally acknowledged, "Interesting setup you've got here. I'm assuming here is, of course, your personal headquarters? It must be, what with the Frankenstein contraptions, and--oh. That beautiful piece of mastery you've transformed into the robotic equivalent of a cheap CGI'd special effect from the early nineties."

Doom chuckled, "Doom assures you, Stark, he has not overlooked your craftsmanship. It's with great honor and respect that Doom has decided to harvest and salvage this Legion at all. You live up to your name, and to your reputation."

"Uh, right." Trap, trap, trap. Tony licked his lips, suddenly very uncomfortable. Correction: more uncomfortable than he was before. "I see. That's why you strapped us together instead of inviting us over for tea."

Doom chuckled, clearly amused. "Let us make our guests welcome, shall we." He directed his guards, who appeared seemingly from nowhere, to come and assist them through the long, expectedly dark hallways of his castle. He was probably going for the aesthetic, Tony mused, noting the pristine statues and jewels that adorned a few of the open rooms they passed.

Steve was not far behind him, probably on purpose. Doom wasn't interested in him, that much was certain. Meaning that Doom was more than likely planning to dump Steve somewhere down in the dungeons (or jail, or whatever the hell it was Doom had installed down in the depths below) while Tony would be stuck facing Doom alone. And, yes, Tony originally attempted to do just that, but Steve's crystal clear photographic memory sounded magnificent now after taking in how massive this place was. Deeper, down at Tony's core, he'd rather die by Steve's hand than by Doom's--and wasn't that the most fucked thing imaginable?

"I should add," Tony said, cutting through the rather loud clacking of their boots hitting the stone floor, "that if we're intending to all have one big, snuggly sleepover, I'm not inclined to sleep away from my darling Captain." He faked his way through sounding ... well, he wasn't sure how he sounded. Anything but bitter and resigned was good enough for him, and being him, he was astutely a master of faking his way through horrible circumstances.

When he glanced back, he suddenly noticed Steve's beard, opting to ignore Steve's shocked, wide-eyed expression. It was attractive. It was beyond attractive; it was something for which Tony had no other words to describe. Looking at Steve was painful, seeing the torn uniform painted black. Simply because… because Tony had cared. Because Tony had yearned;Tony had wanted. He had wanted to be open, to be vulnerable for Steve in a way that so few were allowed to see. It wasn't because Steve was so gotdamn handsome, either. Steve was soft, underneath the layers of bullheadedness and bravado. Tony seemed to fall for soft people, really. He was drawn to them like a moth to a flame, dreaming they'd be gentle enough to care how tender his heart truly was.  

He got lost in the thought.

"Tony ..." Steve said softly, his face a dark shadow compared to Tony's memories. The purple under his eyes and the utter hopelessness in them forced Tony to come to a halt. Steve Rogers was never hopeless. Never.

"Steve," Tony swallowed.

"Hmph," Doom cut in, stepping between them. "I see. This explains much. Bold of you to presume Doom would allow you the comfort of one another's company."

And Tony just laughed, a natural tendency regarding the circumstances. "Oh, I'm sure you've done plenty of homework, I sure as hell have. You don't expect me not to invent my way out of hotel Transylvania here and find all the answers my pitiful little heart desires?"

Doom simply tugged at his shoulder, directing him opposite of where his guards where taking Steve. "Answers Doom was already glad to give. Perhaps you were aware the Legion was an intentional invitation. The Captain, unfortunately, is an unexpected guest." He was leading Tony into a rather ornate dining hall, draped in purples and golds. There were fruit bowls on either end of the dark wood table, while a fire burned inside the fireplace center of the wall. "Come, sit," Doom commanded.

Sure. Tony sat. But, during their brisk walk Tony had morphed into his other personality, Ironman.

Yes, yes. Great name for a separate personality. It was mostly Tony that found it funny. For him, for Iron Man, it was simply his name. His being: forged in the heat that molded the armor and the endless torture Tony had suffered deep within that very cave in Afghanistan.

And really, he was always there, hands bound next to Steve just as Tony was, sharing a headspace together. They weren't completely separate. But they weren't whole, either. They couldn't hear each other inside their head. His head. They also had no control over who got to be in charge or when. Yet, that didn't stop them from trying to dominate one another. It was a hazy experience at best.

Ironman considered himself better suited for the situation at hand. Tony shouldn't be subjecting himself to continual trauma over and over again like he does. Like ...they do. Ironman had a better stomach for it and was more than willing to use their MMA training to his advantage, plus a chair or two as a weapon. Finding the exit shouldn't be too difficult, then once out in the open air, he'd summon the armor and they'd be out of there. It defeated Tony’s purpose for getting caught in the first place, sure. Unfortunately for Tony, Ironman thought it was an exceptionally dumb plan to begin with. Well, they both knew it was stupid.

"Anthony," Doom addressed him, snapping him out of his thoughts. There was a lot of that, too. Not that Tony didn't get lost in his head before the kidnapping and becoming Iron Man. Again, it was hazy. Sometime before, they were simply just ...Tony.

"Wow, you've just unlocked the fastest route to get me to hate you," Ironman said. "Am I gonna get a stern talking to, hmm? You're missing the spatula and apron, but, you know, the armor and cape actually might work to your benefit. Kinda can't smack my hand when both of my hands are still bound together, though." He gestured, resting on his elbows and giving his hands a little shake.

Doom seated himself and snapped his fingers, signaling the servants to bring them chalices full of ice cold water and a tray of appetizers. Ironman quirked a brow as another servant came to unlock the bindings, releasing his wrists. "As I said, Anthony, Doom's Legion was an invitation," Doom said.

Funny, that. Doom suddenly taking claim for their Legion and all. "A strange invitation, but alright. Invite accepted." Ironman obliged. "Though I meant what I said before with me and Cap," he said through his teeth. Tony seemed more forgiving than Ironman. It was a vile thought, imagining sharing a room with the man. Ironman was pissed that Steve thought he could just step in so thoughtlessly, like they couldn't handle their own battles. Now they were stuck with him and then Tony thinks he can depend on him? The man that left them to freeze, wounded, inside that bunker!? Ironman clenched his jaw.

"It's not the strangest request Doom has received." Doom chuckled again, sipping his water through a straw. Not surprisingly, he hardly touched any of the food his servants had brought. Which, honestly, Ironman figured it'd be pretty awkward stuffing food through his faceplate. They did that a couple of times in the Iron Man armor when it just seemed too inconvenient back during those early days, even if all they really ate were smoothies. "On one condition, regarding why, Doom has so generously invited you," Doom finished saying.

"And that is?" Ironman questioned, leaning forward ever so slightly.    

"Doom has invited you because, unlike most, Doom admires your genius, Anthony Stark. As such, Doom requires such genius to aid in completing Doom's time machine," Doom explained.

Ironman blinked, "A time machine?" he asked, only slightly baffled. Doom was a bit of a nut, after all. "You want me to fix your time machine?" He tried not to laugh. The mechanics and science needed for time travel were literally impossible. Next, you'll be telling him it's possible to travel from here to Timbuktu through a portal made of magic. Hah!    

Doom was curt, "Yes. It's exactly as I say, Iron Man." He put particular emphasis on Iron Man. "We were burdened with brilliance create the impossible. Doom strives to achieve what is beyond humanity’s simple-minded concept of the future. Are we not alike in this way?" he challenged.

Neither Ironman nor Tony could argue with that one. But there was something to be said about an egotistical dictator that freely stole other's inventions without care or concern like a massive dick: bad news. "You've got yourself a deal," Ironman agreed, unfortunately. What else did Doom have on them, and of theirs besides the single Iron Legion unit? That was Tony's entire basis for diving in headfirst like a moron, because Tony constantly lacked any sense of self-preservation. Yet, it was also clear that Doom was seeking something other than just assistance with his ridiculous time machine, and both Ironman and Tony reckoned it had everything to do with their new armor.

Then, without braving their new host's leniency, Ironman pulled out his chair and stalked out of the room. He insisted he know where his and Steve's shared quarters were, stopping in the middle of the barely-lit hall to ask a guard. The guard answered and let him go about his way, but Ironman had no doubt there were guards and probably all sorts of gadgets blocking the exits in case they tried to escape. So, he subtly surveyed the immediate area best he could. Mostly it was all just dark and damp with very few rooms, and then the stairwell leading up towards the bedrooms as he had been told.

There he found his and Steve's quarters by the crack in the door; first on the left amongst the row of other doors. "Rogers," he greeted upon entering, spotting Steve sitting on the massive, purple duvet.

"Tony," Steve breathed, shooting up, hands still bound. Ironman failed to resist snickering on Tony's account. Steve Rogers did not deserve Tony's endless courtesy.

"Maybe Doom is more of a genius than I've been giving him credit for," he mused, gesturing for Steve to sit right back down before the Supersoldier regrets it.

"Tony," Steve repeated, this time sounding a bit like a wounded puppy. He didn't really think he could just show up and they'd forgive him, did he?

Ironman scoffed. Steve was such an ass. "Please, just sit back down. We'll worry about your supersoldier metabolism in just a minute. First, I need to know what the fuck you think you're doing here. I mean, what is this with the beard and the horrible paint job?" He gestured at Steve's uniform with a finger. "Jesus, you even ripped the star out."

"It was easier to disguise myself like this. Had a  little inspiration from Clark Kent," Steve explained, gently settling back onto the bed.

"Clark Kent had glasses." Ironman wasn't going to reflect upon the realization that Steve's new look was actually kind of attractive. (It must have been worse for Tony, hurting somewhere deep inside their head.)

"The point," Steve continued, "is that I'm simply a guy wandering through Europe. I haven't put on this uniform since ..." He swallowed and turned his gaze to the floor, restlessly fumbling with his fingers. "Since Siberia. The Iron Legion was conveniently nearby, and I thought.. Well, I thought, because I knew, Tony, I knew what it meant. How much it'd hurt to see yet another person stealing your tech... I--I knew I had to do something."

"Funny," Ironman bit out, beginning to pace across the surprisingly large space and pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't have that right, Rogers. And if I get my way you'll never get that right," he let slip aloud. Argh, damnit! Luckily Steve hardly seemed to notice his little slip of tongue, choosing to keep pouting.

"Tony, look, about what happened in Siberia--"

"Don't," Ironman growled. "Just don't."

"No," Steve set his jaw, looking determined as ever. "I know I fucked up, Tony. I know I did. This isn't about the Accords or Ross, or whoever the fuck else! You were doing the right thing, and I was doing the right thing. I--I never told you about the bunker because I didn't want you risking Ross' wrath. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was an ass about it. But you came. Because that's what you do. Because that's who you are, Tony. And I--I never told you about Howard and your mother because I," his gaze swept back to the floor, "because I was a coward. It hurt. It hurt so much knowing. Howard was my friend, and I-- everyone I've ever cared for, Hydra destroys; murders, tortures."

"Hydra didn't hurt me. You did." Ironman swallowed back the venom on his tongue, the vicious words he wanted to cut Steve open with. To make Steve hurt just as much as they were still hurting now.

"Yes," Steve agreed, "I did, Tony." He met their eyes, "What can I ...what can I do?" he asked so softly, Ironman almost felt pity for him.

That was a lie. Ironman felt pity for him and plenty more. The great tangled web that was Ironman and Tony's connection didn't end at Tony's continual suffering. They shared it all together. They shared their hopes and dreams, and they shared their love. Love that was often never cherished or freely and openly given. Loving Steve Rogers was ... bittersweet. "I don't want you to do anything besides give me your hands." He sighed.

"Tony?" Steve asked, clearly confused, but offered up his hands regardless. Ironman dug for a piece of wire stuffed in their pants, picking at the latches to Doom's fancy contraption and eventually freeing Steve from the bindings.

"Lay on the bed, if you please," Ironman gestured. This next part wasn't gonna help with that whole complicated feelings thing, unfortunately. "I'm gonna ...um. Cuddle. We can cuddle without killing each other. I hope? Can’t be blowing our cover, now can we?”

Steve blinked, a flush peeking through that damned beard. "Whatever ..." Steve tried. "Uh. Y--Yeah, um. Certainly unorthodox since we haven't even held hands. The uniform’s, uh, it's--"

Meanwhile, Ironman gently arranged himself comfortably against Steve's side as Steve went on babbling like an idiot. "I designed the uniform, Steve," He said in annoyance, mostly because Steve was so surprisingly warm. Serum, he had to remind himself. "You never asked," he said in reply to Steve's comment about hand holding. Ironman would have absolutely rejected him, of course. Well, at least for awhile, anyway. Tony, he had no clue what Tony would do, being gentler and that much more receptive to Steve's mere existence. Tony loved Steve first, really.

"Oh," Steve said dumbly. He pressed close enough Ironman could feel his breath, now asking, "What did Doom want?"

"He mentioned some nonsense about a time machine. Totally sounds ridiculous because it is. I think he's got more dirt on my tech than he's letting on. And, I'm without a doubt that he's interested in my latest armor as well."

"Right," Steve said very slowly, already expecting the nitty-gritty details of Ironman's plan. Faintly, Ironman could hear his stomach gurgle, leaving him  suddenly feeling guilty that he didn't snag an appetizer tray or wait for any dinner Doom might have been interested in offering. Ironman tried not to shiver, and suddenly Steve was latching onto him like an octopus. "Come on, let's get under the blankets," Steve suggested.

"No," Ironman tried clarifying. "Not that. I'm fine. It's only ...you haven't once asked about my armor." He changed the subject, relenting against Steve's adverse embrace.

"Why did you imply we're dating?" Steve whispered instead.

"Did I do that?" A beat. "Ah, yeah. Okay. I absolutely did that. If you're mad about it, you should be a hundred-percent aware it's your own damned fault. I absolutely don't forgive you, by the way. I--I can't forgive you. Not right now. It's too soon." He averted his eyes. "But by the power _in_ vested in me, you will pretend to be my dumb, serum-enhanced boyfriend. Oh, I mean that by the way. Power invested, okay. Get it?" Then he lowered his voice barely enough for Steve to hear, "Power invested because it's in me--"

"It's in you? Tony what--if that's some horrible euphemism--"

"Yes. Of course. Absolutely. But the suit’s also in me. Literally. Call it an upgrade if you will. I don't want tall, green, and probably handsy discovering it." Then he intended to explain the rest of it. Most of it, anyway, excluding the whole “Tony's an idiot when it comes to EMP's” thing. Instead, he was taken aback by Steve's genuine look of concern. "You're cuddling me."

Steve huffed a laugh, "You practically laid on me. I'm your serum-enhanced boyfriend, I kinda like cuddles. Plus, uh, you're cuddling back." He shrugged, his mouth tilting upward into a tiny, god-awful smirk. Ironman tried to muster every ounce of rational thought contained in his and Tony's collective brain before blatantly ignoring all of it--Siberia, their parents, the quiet falling out after Ultron--and jolting forward, kissing Steve with everything he had. Steve moaned against him, reaching to cup a hand around his cheek, taking charge.

They kissed for what seemed like hours

\---

Tony paced down the steps of Doom's ridiculously placed stairwell, his lips, and cheeks tender from Steve's stupid beard. He slipped back into control long after Steve was content having ravished his mouth, and Ironman had been idly running a hand through Steve's hair.

It was probably sometime past midnight and Tony desperately needed to tinker on something.

"Tony, hold up!" Steve called from behind him, but Tony kept up his pace. He wasn't angry. He wasn't ... Ironman was him. They shared this broken body together, housing fragments of the pain he'd endured from Afghanistan, from Vanko, from staring into the blackness of space through the portal and falling aimlessly to his death. He did his research. After, after Siberia, he finally chose to see a psychiatrist. He was working on taking his meds and remembering to do his mindfulness breathing exercises. He was trying to stop the catastrophic thinking.

Ironman told him he was worth protecting. Written in such elegant handwriting, Tony was frankly disturbed it had been done with his own hand. They liked sharing a notebook to communicate over using a tablet or something much more reasonable like one of Tony's heavily encrypted phones. It was more personal that way--and so, so creepy. Ironman was blunt but deeply affectionate. He doodled--doodled!--little pictures of him and Tony hugging. Said that's all he wanted, to be able to hold Tony and keep him safe.

Tony never openly admitted how much he hated himself. How much everything ached, in his bones and when he breathed or bent his fingers. His existence hurt, but it wasn't without its good parts; like Peter and seeing Pepper and Happy grow closer because they deserved each other. He wasn't directly involved in those good parts. Except, he was. Ironman was his friend. And for some fucked up reason Ironman liked him, and he liked Ironman. But, he _was_ Ironman. His life was so fucked up, his brain split apart to so it could deal with it and he ...cared about himself. And he ...betrayed himself?

"I have a headache," he managed to say once Steve caught up with him. "I reckon catching a glimpse at that machine Doom's got might do the trick. Doom's probably around tinkering himself if he's as great as he says he is. You're officially on Dum-E duty." He patted Steve's shoulder without making eye contact, leading the way.

Steve, the champ that he is, simply snorted. "I'm taking that as the compliment that it is."

"Is it?"

"Dum-E is adorable."

That was news. Steve had rarely ever visited the workshop when they were all housed together inside the tower for those brief few months. "You're more the rugged lumberjack right now," Tony gestured to Steve's beard.

"I always thought I was," Steve replied, smug. Right. That whole breaking a log in two with his bare hands on Clint's farm.

"Okay, lumberjack yes, rugged no."

They reached Doom's decrepit workshop--slash--lab, and as Tony figured, Doom was busy huffing at one of his servants dressed in a white lab coat--a scientist, maybe? Doom was still all tall and green, but that, of course, was assuming Doom also didn't have an array of armors he frequently swapped around. They simply happened to all look the same because Doom lacked any sense of style, Tony theorized.

"A-oh, Doomie," Tony hollered across the room, casually snatching a screwdriver leaning off one of the many tables littering the place. Yeah, sure, it actually was pretty tidy but it was a shop after all. "I think you got a little time machine for me." He twirled the screw-driver between his fingers.

"Stark," Doom's voice boomed. "And Captain, we meet again," he greeted, stalking, always stalking, towards them. "It's not far from which you stand," He gestured to a metal panel along the floor, several feet in diameter. It was, very unsurprisingly, directly below a raised platform holding a throne. Tony doubted many even had the privilege of being let in here. It was, you know, pretty classic egotistical villain behavior.

"Okay, first things first: how does it work? Second, what's specifically wrong with it? Then, finally, I’m hoping you've got the tools needed to mess around with this thing," Tony said, kneeling down to spread a hand along the device. It was smooth and cool to the touch, and when Tony gently pressed down, it sunk slightly into the floor. Weight-activated then. Pity, Tony always loved those cylindrical metal boxes that flashed pretty colors in old sci-fi movies. (That was a thing, right? Tony was positive that was a thing. Otherwise, he'd like to remind everyone it's been a good while.)  "Heh," he snorted at himself.

"You," Doom addressed to another of his poor lackeys, "Retrieve my equipment!" Which, huh, Tony had bots and Doom had actual people. Not that was anything wrong with people. (Assistants, Tony’s mind supplied.) Doom, though, Doom seemed to enjoy flaunting his status as ruler here. Tony definitely doubted Doom trusted anyone. The curse of genius, maybe?

"Steve, I'm gonna stand on it." He tapped the back of his hand against Steve's chest. No muscle definition under all that armor here, boys. It made Tony kinda sad.

"Tony, let me do it," Steve argued immediately, stepping forward. He took Tony's hand very gently into his, bringing it to his lips and softly running his lips over Tony's knuckles. Tony couldn't help but flex his fingers, suddenly helpless in the moment. Steve had absolutely no idea. He had no clue about the difference between them, Tony and Ironman. That didn't stop the fluttering between Tony's ribcage. Nor did it stop how he was preening over Steve choosing to kiss Tony's hand and not Ironman's.

It made no sense.

Nothing was making sense.

"Watch it, Prince-Charming," Tony snatched his hand back. "You're embarrassing me in front of our captors," he said, desperately hoping he wasn't blushing. Ironman never once seemed like he flushed while kissing Steve. Obviously it was hard to tell, and obviously, this was really, really stupid. He needed Steve to log into the mainframe while he was busy distracting Doom. They'd have actually discussed this if Ironman hadn't--ugh! He was the one that stormed off because he was so--so jealous. Of himself!

"Alright, fine." Tony set his jaw, "Come here a minute." He waved Steve closer and pressed their chests together, Tony standing on his tippy-toes so he could whisper into Steve's ear, "I need you to dismantle whatever Doom's got on us. Get whatever he's stolen of mine and anyone's tech. Anything and everything."

"Okay," Steve breathed, turning serious and moving to start strategizing using that big, dumb, impressive brain of his. Sometimes Tony envied having a photographic memory and Steve's easy ability to learn new information at light speed. Steve probably couldn't help that sometime he wasidiot.

An idiot Tony apparently liked very much. More than liked. "Okay," he repeated, clinging to Steve long enough to brush their lips together.

"If we're all quite ready," Doom startled Tony, circling around the machine with a funky-looking wrench in hand. Seriously? He made his servant go and fetch just that? Tony really felt like he was in an old-school sci-fi but yet was more than ready to get his hands all over it, assuming it didn't kill him.

"Peachy-keen," Tony answered, releasing Steve and making grabby hands. Shockingly, Doom didn't taser him with it, he simply tossed it Tony's way. Pretty trusting, Doom. But, it was more likely that Doom could easily build himself another once he got what he wanted out of Tony. The device, which upon closer inspection was really more like a pink, electric wand-sorta gizmo, sizzled when Tony hit the big yellow button on the side. The platform remained ...well like it's been since Tony stood on it. Doom was expecting him to literally understand the concept of magic, here. Magic. Doom might seriously think he's stupider than he first thought. "Might need a run-down, though."

"Indeed," Doom agreed. "Doom often enjoys mixing the formidable knowledge of science and sorcery together." Uh-huh. "This is how Doom has made time-travel achievable." Okay. Sure.

Tony really wanted to ask about the whole talking in third person thing, but then he'd have to admit publicly he basically did it too. Who in the seven hells even knew what Doom would do with that kind of information? Yet it sat on the tip of his tongue, waiting to burst out from his mouth. He’d been good at this once--focus. Focus. Most of Doom's rambling sounded like absolute bull ripped straight of an old seventies comic book or something and Tony had half a mind to just smack the back of Doom's fancy wrench against the panel.

Eventually, he put two and two together and realized the main controls were connected to the throne on the right side of the armrest, hidden from plain sight. It was in here because Doom tested on his lackeys, didn't he? Of course, he did. Or maybe he just sent them off on ridiculous time travel errands? Most importantly the entire machine seemed powered down. Figures. It was a ploy from the get-go to make sure Tony was close by and in reach. It hardly mattered.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Steve quietly edging himself around the control panel. Steve was mostly too brash and lacked subtly, preferring to barge in and tank enemies, as Peter described it. Still, Steve somehow pulled off being so invisible on the rare occasion he could scare Tony shitless passing down the communal hall. There were three other henchmen in lab-coats, adding to a total of four other people plus Doom.

Easy.

The lights shuttered off with a static pop.

Easier.

There'd be guards off around the corner, but first, Tony lit-up Doom's ridiculous sci-fi wand-thing-a-mah-bob and jammed it in Doom's shoulder. "Steve, you good?" he called out, dodging Doom's punch and flexing his fingers. His whole body felt taut and stiff, the metal thrumming to life and slowly enveloping him, round and round in strings of red until he was standing in full armor. The night vision kicked on, allowing him to catch Steve throwing said lackeys gently onto the floor.

Doom was hardly down long. "In your body? Yes, how fascinating." He swung again. The guards started to pile in, Steve dusting through them like they were nothing. "It is the components of this technology that Doom needs to stabilize the field."

Tony fired up his repulsors, shooting Doom right in the chest and knocking him onto his back. "Wait, I really was here to help with your crazy-assed time machine?" He barely dodged Doom's slide-kick from the ground, jetting himself into the air. Then he aimed for one of Doom's hands, blasting it. It barely did any damage--Doom was good, Tony would grant him that.

"Tony!" Steve finally answered, lunging behind Doom as Doom was rising off the floor and taking him back down by landing on his shoulders. Tony fired a few more shots, but Steve elbowing Doom's head apparently knocked the guy right out.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," Tony said, settling his feet down on the floor again.

"Oh, God! Tony, I thought you'd been defenseless the whole time, and I was sitting here worrying about you when you've been carrying the damn armor in your body?" Steve yelled, standing to meet him.

Tony scrunched up his nose in distaste, "Worried? You were Frenching me for like a whole thirty minutes over there!" He pointed down the hall with an arm. Apparently Ironman’s hints went right over Steve’s head in the heat of moment.

"Of course I was worried! I've been worried the whole time! I've never seen you do something so stupid without a backup plan,." Steve continued to argue. "And if I recall, it was you who kissed me!"

"You weren't too upset about it!" They were getting off track. Something was off. Doom shouldn't have been so easy to take down.

"I ...I was worried you were going to hate me forever," Steve's voice went soft, coming to hesitantly embrace him, armor and all. "It's a mess, Tony; you and me. I wish it wasn't."

Tony blinked, carefully returning Steve's embrace while doing another scan of the room. "There should be way more guards, shouldn't there?" he whispered against Steve's ear, unintentionally causing Steve to shiver.

Steve's eyes roaming the room, and he cocked his head, listening much like that of a golden retriever curiously deciphering a baby crying on the television. Too many times Tony had tried testing Steve's possible listening range. Far too many. Could he hear through walls, and how far? How many floors could he hear through? It was like a pet project, boxed in storage because he wasn't really sure he could handle knowing Steve was able to hear him singing along in the shower to Kesha.

Getting. Off. Track. Tony.

"Nobody’s going to come running, that's for sure,” Steve said. "But it's dead quiet. You're right, something's fishy," he confirmed.

Tony stepped around Doom's body and booted up the console Steve had used, with also disturbing ease. "You deleted everything?"

"There wasn't much. It was heavily protected by several passwords, which were easy enough." Steve followed behind, and--God. Steve had finished in the blink of an eye.    

"Here I thought you were a tech god." A beat. Tony spun in search of the Legion, finding it nowhere in sight. He scanned the room a third time, focusing this instance on just the machines and gizmo's lying around. "They're hollow?" He questioned, full on blasting Doom's submarine-plane open. The hood shot off, smacking the ceiling, completely empty inside. "Okay, what in the hell is going on?"

"It's a trap," Steve clarified. "The Legion was only part of it. It's a fake lab. Must be, give or take a few things. It'd seemed too convenient he'd just let me stay here as your boyfriend after I thought about it a while. I'm too much of a threat if he wanted your armor."

"I don't think it's the armor itself he wanted ..." Tony murmured, scowling beneath the helmet. His lackeys were one-hundred percent fleshy-tissued humans, but Doom himself--. He stomped over to it and slammed his foot against the head till it snapped off, the wires of Doom's decoy sizzling and snapping visibly in the air. "Figures," Tony sighed. He commanded the faceplate to slide off and open with a flick of his eyes. "He wants the technology, per say. He probably doesn’t give a rat's ass about the armor itself."

Steve's eyes widened, the lights flickering back on with a swipe of his finger on the keyboard. "We're being monitored."

"Like lab rats." Tony's distaste could be heard in his own voice. "Might've been dark but he's already gotten what he wanted. I think he allowed you to stay was because he hoped I'd show how the armor worked." Then he wrinkled his nose in disgust, "He's got footage of us kissing."

"And, about your parents ..." Steve sounded remorseful. Yet, he was right in Tony's little bubble the moment Tony circled right back to the monitor, kicking Doom's head along the way.

"Everybody's bound to know we went at it by now, Steve," Tony decided to comfort him. "It's ...it's just--" This was the hard part. "Why did you kiss me? Why did you kiss me back?"

"It's--it's not obvious?" Steve blurted out and Tony almost jumped right out of his skin. There was no anger in his voice, only a whine. He was pleading so desperately that Tony moved to squeeze his shoulder.

"I--no?" Tony tried not to croak out. He failed miserably. He knew already. He wasn't blind like everyone enjoyed insisting he was. He had eyes, he'd seen the way Steve looked at him. Tony had been pining for Steve so long. He knows; God, does he know. It wasn't logical, before. The timing was never right. Then there was their age and Steve's utter inexperience in a long-term relationship. Steve's tendencies to keep secrets. Tony’s tendencies to keep secrets. The list was endless.

He became angry, thinking about having kissed Steve just because Ironman kissed Steve. He’d let his emotions get the best of him. Steve cared, but caring only meant so much, in the end.

"You left,"came Ironman's unrestrained anger, unlike Tony. "You care about me, but how much?" He left all his other questions on the tip of their tongue (Doom was going to savor this, surely). He was aware Tony had been angry, except he also kissed Steve? He kissed Steve tenderly, and Ironman had been ashamed of himself. He never meant to kiss Steve like that. He never meant to keep going, to, to--he had no words. No explanation for his actions.

"More than you can imagine," Steve replied, sorrowful. He began to walk towards the lab's entrance, "There's a chance there's a transport of some kind tucked away in here, figuring that we got here somehow. These guys, and the guards. But, since the place is mostly deserted we could blow a hole in the wall instead?" There was a hopeful glint in his eye. "We could, uh, finishing yelling at each other after?"

Ironman cocked his head, "You mean--you'd have to ride me over to safety." He failed to realize what he said until Steve's face flushed a bright, highly attractive pink. He decided not to correct himself. "Bit of a tight fit."

"Tony," Steve complained. "Riding you wouldn't be too aerodynamic. We'd have to embrace, I think. Am I the perfect height? Probably." Then he pressed the entirety of his body flush against Ironman's front once he turned Ironman away from the monitor desk. "Like this, yes?"

Ironman squinted for dramatic effect, responding, "You--you asshole! Flirting with u--yes. Yes, this would work. The armor is more than durable enough. You're like what, the equivalent of fifteen people, twenty. _Infinity and Beyond_ durable. I'm still fucking pissed at you, just in case you think this means I've forgotten."

"Hey, I get that reference." Steve gave a shit-eating grin, all-the-while still glowing bright pink up to his ears.

"Good." Ironman regrettably pushed Steve away; only briefly. "We need to get everyone else out, ASAP."

"You have a better plan, then?" Steve nodded, moving quickly.

The size of Doom's staff inside the (sort of?) fake castle was underwhelming. There were the four people in lab coats, and barely twenty guards plus the seven Steve took down in the lab. The caste itself was underwhelming upon further inspection. Horribly underwhelming. Besides the stairwell and the upper rooms, there was just one other room downstairs round another corner from the dining hall. Any transport used to escort Doom's tiny team of goons wasn't to be found, either.

Outside was an endless range of green grass and gentle hills divided from the castle by a moat and no noticeable drawbridge. "I'm flying them across," Ironman stated. Simple operation. Steve kept an eye on those still left while Ironman pondered Doom being okay with just leaving these people stranded like this.

Except, "Doom knew we'd help them once we realized," he said, landing next to Steve and leading the way back to the lab.

"The Legion's still missing."

"Took off, probably. Or something. Doom's not interested in it anymore, I don't think. Not when it's no longer such easy bait for me." Ironman groaned, "I'm pissed off for fucking falling for it,” he said purposefully, hoping Tony caught on. He wouldn't be getting any passes simply because Ironman had the gall to kiss Steve.

Jesus, they were such a mess.

"Regardless, time for that ride, big boy?" He slapped Steve's shoulder.

Steve sucked in a breath, hesitating to speak but ultimately shaking his head, "Nevermind. Shoot." He pointed to the console, and Ironman glared at him, slack-jawed. There was absolutely no way in hell that Steve could have figured out Ironman, and Tony, had planned to blow this place. "What?" Steve quirked a cocky, well-defined brow. (They were so discussing that later.)

The three of them--if this was going where Ironman hoped it was going. A bit of a bitter hope, on his end. A painful one, on Tony's. "Stay close." He focused on the task at hand, "And be ready." The backs of Steve's fingers delicately tracing the sensitive skin of his cheek made him shiver, their--his and Tony's--fingers tapping away, breaking down Doom's programming to its bare bones and initiating the self-destruct sequence.

Steve's arms then ensnared him, both their cheeks pressed together, Ironman refusing to lift the faceplate back on over his head. He blasted down through the cobblestone using a repulsor because, hey, that was half the damn fun, wasn't it? It wasn't like they were flying far, only to the spot where Ironman had placed the others. He was pleased to see several of them had already started waking up. He'd call for proper transport and medical, just in case. These people would need assistance.

 

"Doom's planning to make his own," Ironman said after all was taken care of.

Steve nodded in understanding, "Someone with that kinda ego wouldn't want an exact copy."

"No," Ironman agreed. "Here, look," he flicked up a hologram from their gauntlet projecting news articles Friday translated into English covering Doom's biography. The people they rescued might have spoken English, but if they did they weren't interested in revealing such information. Friday could filter their hushed conversations across the field where they sat in several small piles should Ironman command it. Ironman preferred to value their privacy.

"He's scared," Steve said, hovering his hand over the hologram to try and scroll down, apparently unsure whether it'd work or not. Friday reacted faster than Ironman, Steve jolting slightly. "Uh, right. Should have known," He then laughed nervously.

"It's not necessarily ...comfortable," Ironman wavered in saying. Describing what it was like was, well, difficult. It was heavy. They could literally feel it dragging their limbs down, like wearing exercise weights. Yet injecting the armor straight inside their bones removed the constant strain against their chest from the arc reactor pressing down, being heavier too than most people expected. Yes, it was mostly the casing, even in the armor. It didn't matter. After Siberia ... "He must have to constantly change in and out of his armor in order to just sleep or eat, or... Summoning it automatically from within his body might alleviate some of the discomfort. Though, he could have actually fucking asked."

"So, you're fine with him making off with your armor schematics?" Steve pressed his lips together into a thin line, a hand resting under his chin.

"Yes and no. What, you thinking this is the end of it?"

Steve chuckled, "Never. Am I? Can I ...help?" He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "I want to help."

Ironman gestured that they move further away. "T-minus ten minutes till Vision arrives," he confirmed, next, "And I --we, need to talk. About--about what happened last night," he said, feeling awkward, the tiredness sinking in. He'd forgotten it was barely early morning. "I shouldn't have ever kissed you," he tried being stern.

"Oh," Steve said softly. "I- I understand, Tony. I do. We have--we have a lot of issues to work through."

"I'd be angry had Tony kissed you. You make my blood boil, what you did. Tony can forgive you all he likes; I can forgive you. Forgiveness means nothing when I can't know whether I'm able to trust you. What will you lie about next? Who will you choose over us? I deserve--we deserve your honesty;o let us in. You didn't wanna hurt Tony by lying about our parents? That's too fucking bad. It's a bleeding wound I don't know how to heal because we … I--" It was on the tip of his tongue. "We shouldn't. Somehow, someway, we do," he finished pathetically, yet keeping his eyes locked on Steve's bewildered gaze.

The silence stretched out, long and unending.

Finally, "You too," Steve said. "You need to let me in, too."

"Yes," Ironman said skeptically. "I'm aware."

"The rest of you--" Steve began, then amended, "You're in," he searched for the right word, "total agreement? I'm not sure how to..."

"Yes."

"I can earn it. Even if I gotta spend the rest of my days doing it, Tony. This life... this life's been cruel. I need stop mourning it, I ...I do, too." He gestured with his fingers. "I love you, too. Wow," he laughed wetly, and it was then that Ironman realized there were tears staining his cheeks. "We're awful aren't we?"

"Yes," Ironman swallowed. "It's not suddenly better because we, we--"

"Love each other. I know. Please, believe me, I know. I know it's going to- to hurt. Maybe more so than knowing what we've done to each other."

"I think," Ironman continued, "I think I messed up kissing you. Kissing you first. I won't know till, erm. We didn't bother bringing a phone, too risky," he explained. "Tony's more delicate than ...he's earned you more than me." He wanted to say ‘easily jealous’. It was there, swimming around inside their head since that evening, but damnit, it might have been his own guilt muddling with the rest of their emotions.

"The genius didn't think to bring a notepad." Steve said wryly. Then Steve was right there, hovering close and caressing a thumb along their cheek. "I can wait. Tony will tell me, won't he? How he feels? What he wants?"

Ironman nodded, reaching to grasp Steve's hand in their own, "I'm sure you can come. We have a gift for you, anyway. We'll argue about it on the way to the compound." He didn't elaborate that he meant the Accords. Nor did he express his desire for Steve to start therapy. Steve would have to stop being a wanted criminal, first. There was going to be lots of arguing.

What was new?

Maybe Steve was right. Maybe this would hurt more. Ironman hoped it was worth it.

The quinjet touched down, Vision briskly moving to greet them. They'd move everyone in groups, but first Ironman went to retrieve Steve's shield, perfected and polished to satisfaction. Friday already knew to request Vision fetch it for them, the smart, darling girl.

"Tony," Steve's voice cracked, taking it with both hands. "Tony you didn't have to. You didn't; you really, really didn't."

"Shut up, for the love of Christ! Tony wanted to. We missed you too, I guess." Ironman scratched the back of his head, almost feeling shy. "So you're going to thank him."

"I--"

"Kiss him, to make up for ...earlier."

"How will I, you know, know?"

Ironman snorted, and took Steve's hand, walking them inside the quinjet as Vision directed everyone else in their steed. "You're smarter than that, I'd hope."

Steve chastely pressed a kiss to Ironman’s--Tony’s--their nose, and replied, "Only sometimes."


End file.
